


gay sex in a church bathroom

by adventuress_writes



Series: dark academia [4]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Canon Compliant, Charles is stoned, Choking, Crucifix, Francis has a religion kink, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Quickies, Quiet Sex, Rough Sex, Spoilers, Whiskey As Lube, francis' perspective, you're welcome donna tartt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuress_writes/pseuds/adventuress_writes
Summary: the most iconic thing Francis and Charles have ever done in their miserable lives—they slip away immediately after Bunny’s memorial service into the men’s bathroom of the church to share a drink from Francis’ flask and a quick fuck
Relationships: Francis Abernathy/Charles Macaulay
Series: dark academia [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878109
Kudos: 54





	gay sex in a church bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> this isn’t even the most blasphemous thing I’ve written (see Sin & Bad Ideas)

Silently, I held open the door for Charles to walk through. I hastily pulled the flask out of the pocket of my coat, looking around to make sure no one had seen us slip away into the men’s bathroom just as Bunny’s memorial service was ending. I saw Richard in my periphery, but otherwise thought nothing of him as the bathroom door swung closed behind me.

Almost immediately I was met with Charles’ lips, pressed hard against my own, kissing me in a brusque, needy fashion. I kissed him back, albeit with less force. He had me pinned against the door, which made me anxious because anyone could just walk in and hit us, find us together and call us godless heathens or any number of slurs unutterable by myself. I tried pushing Charles off, but the only thing that worked to move him was to draw his attention elsewhere. I procured the flask from my pocket and held it aloft, unscrewing it blindly until he relented, pulling his lips away from mine. I took a long swig, welcoming the taste of whiskey with desperate delight. I wordlessly handed it off to Charles as I brushed passed him and guided him into a bathroom stall.

“Oh come on, Charles, hand it back will you?” I said in an exasperated tone as I locked the stall behind him.

Reluctantly, he handed the flask back to me, then busied himself with the buttons on his trousers. I collected my flask from him, screwed the cap on, and slid it back into my coat pocket. I started on my own pants, undoing belt and buttons as Charles squeezed past me in the tight stall to sit on the toilet lid, his pants still on, though unbuttoned and open.

For a moment I looked up, catching sight of a wooden crucifix hanging on the wall above the toilet. I couldn’t help but let out a maniacal cackle. Charles glanced up behind him, following my gaze. He snickered in kind, bemused by this revelation of ours.

Charles spoke between stifled giggles. “I guess Jesus will be here to watch us fuck, the dirty bastard.”

The manner in which he talked and laughed made me realize just how stoned out of his mind he still was. The whole situation was rather ironic, if not jocular if I was being honest. Here we were in a bathroom stall of a Catholic church after a funeral service about to have gay sex in ‘the house of god.’ We would’ve had a good laugh discussing this incident afterwards had some of the deeper implications not been involved. We were, after all, attending a memorial service for someone to whose murder we had been accessories. This, however, was a fact I was not too keen on recalling at the time.

“Is it just me, or do you think he’s jealous?” My tone of voice was sly, yet comical.

Charles pretended to contemplate this seriously. “Hmm. Jealous, I’d say. Wouldn’t you be if you’ve been dead for two millennia and dying for a fuck? I’m sure this doesn’t happen often in his presence, after all.”

“Well,” I started, plucking my trousers from the floor and hanging them up on the stall hook, “Personally, I’m dying to sit on that dick.”

“What a coincidence,” Charles said with a smile. “I’m dying for my dick to be sat on.”

I pulled my underwear off and hung them up with my trousers. “Then something absolutely must be done about that.”

I sat on Charles’ lap, sporting a semi and grinding playfully against Charles’ growing erection. Charles undid the top buttons on my shirt to kiss my neck, leaving fresh hickeys in his wake near those which were healing. It was as if my skin was his canvas and his medium were bruises and bite marks. I hated how much I loved it and mourned to wear high enough collars to cover it all up. I completely understood how unhealthy it all was—I knew I was nothing more than his plaything—and yet I was compelled by the duality of his unpredictable nature; the soft, warm caresses juxtaposed by the violent hands and bruising force. I didn’t want to feel anything for him, but on the other hand, we as humans are beholden to what we feel and will pursue a feeling at any cost.

“Mm, Francis?” Charles said, his lips brushing softly against my collarbone.

“Yes?”

“You don’t happen to have anything we can use as lube?”

I thought for a moment, glancing idly up at the crucifix and examining the sorrowful expression with which Jesus looked upon us. Perhaps the sight would’ve stirred something within me if I believed that Jesus ever actually existed.

“All I have is the whiskey.”

Charles smiled. “That’ll work.”

I sighed with mock exasperation, suppressing a growing smile. “This,” I said, pulling the flask from my coat pocket, “is an outrageous use of liquor. However, in this instance, it is absolutely necessary.” I unscrewed the cap and took a sip of whiskey before handing it off to Charles, who subsequently drank some too before using the whiskey for more nefarious purposes.

Carefully, Charles poured a bit of the dark liquor into his hand and rubbed it onto his erection. He gave the flask back to me and I quickly screwed the cap back on and dropped it back into my coat pocket. Holding me by my hips, he shifted me closer towards him, before moving a hand to his whiskey-covered cock. It was surprising how quickly and easily he slid into me, slick with liquor and loosened up from our rendezvous that morning. I had intended on being as silent as possible, taking Charles in with only quiet and hurried breaths, but Charles fully moaned, and obnoxiously loud at that. I hurriedly clapped a hand over his mouth, alarmed that someone outside of the bathroom might hear him.

“Shut up!” I spoke in a hushed tone, hissing through my teeth, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Jesus hanging on the crucifix on the altar could hear you.”

Charles allowed himself a breathy chuckle in response, clearly not caring who heard us.

“You’re infuriating,” I said as I slowly began to ride his cock.

“It’s funny,  _ Francois _ .” Charles’ voice was muffled from behind my hand. “So are you.”

He licked the palm of my hand, causing me to recoil my hand from his face, just as he intended. What shocked me was when he took hold of my hands and positioned them at his neck. It was rare that he wanted me to choke him, for it was almost always the other way around. It was his way of reconciling with me, offering me control over life and death. It was a facade and nothing more, but he played his role convincingly, fooling me yet again into complacency. Of course I obliged him, I had plenty of pent up anger directed towards him, anger which I happily redirected into choking and riding him hard. I found some sort of sadistic pleasure in every strangled gasp, the way his eyelashes fluttered, the vice grip he had on my waist. Periodically, I kissed his face, his skin hot to touch against my lips.

I could not keep this up for very long; my knees were becoming increasingly weak, my breathing laborious, my muscles involuntarily beginning to tense. My hands shifted from their place around Charles’ neck to his shoulders for better leverage. I was shaking uncontrollably, focusing all my energy into staying silent though I was on the verge of an orgasm. Charles’ grasp on my hips became tighter and, in his own desperation, he began to thrust hard and as quick as his position permitted. Incomprehensible hushed curses slipped from my mouth, alerting me to my loss of control. I was frantic trying to find the right words to tell Charles how close I was, but even though I could barely speak straight, he knew what I was trying to say. He stopped thrusting momentarily to wrap a hand around my cock, giving me a rough handjob as I clung to him, muffling my pleasured gasps with my hand over my mouth.

I threw my head back as I climaxed in his hand. He leaned forward and kissed my neck so gently, so sweetly; he had succeeded yet again in appeasing me, and satisfaction coursed through my veins. I breathed in Charles’ scent—yesterday’s application of cologne mixed with the faint aromas of weed and coffee clinging to the fabric of his clothing. I half expected a jolt of a thrust from him finishing himself off, in his typical fashion of startling me out of my orgasm, but it never came. I offered him a confused but altogether pleasant expression. He continued to defy his own norms, pressing his lips softly against my own in a conciliatory gesture. I was further baffled by his actions when I felt him cumming inside of me and moaning into our kiss.

“How stoned are you?” I said, pulling away from his lips, absolutely taken aback by this entire interaction.

Charles smiled and shrugged. “Pretty stoned. Does it matter?”

I stared at him for a moment in thought. “No, I suppose not.” I took a deep breath. “Well, I think we should be rejoining the others. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Charles was quite agreeable after all was said and done. He sat still and said little as I helped clean him up in his inebriated state. Even after taking a few more sips from my flask, he was relatively easy to deal with. In all honesty, he usually was after we had sex, pacified, if momentarily, by the release; sometimes he just had to fuck his problems out of his system. I hated to think about what I was to him, but I buried it deep inside of me, for the sheer pleasure of being with him was enough for me.

We recovered swiftly and left the stall after a couple of minutes. We searched around for Richard and Camilla, spotted them before long, and we greeted them like nothing happened. 


End file.
